


Keep Your Friends Close and Your Enemies Closer

by TheHeadlessWaltz



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4004626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHeadlessWaltz/pseuds/TheHeadlessWaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina learns the true meaning of the expression "keep your friends close and your enemies closer" when she wakes up for the first time in Storybrooke and finds a very unpleasant surprise. Has life just dealt her yet another shitty hand, or has she come across the perfect opportunity to cause the one she hates most to suffer for her crimes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To any of you reading "Demon Spawn" no worries; I will still be updating that regularly.

Dark chocolate eyes flutter open at the incessant ringing. The sudden noise is loud and obtrusive in comparison to the suffocating emptiness that had enwrapped her only moments before; Regina had always hated travel between worlds. She glances over at the foreign object from which the noise is emanating and, thanks to the effects of the curse, is able to identify the machine as an alarm clock. On instinct, she reaches out a hand to silence the annoyance, just as the curse fills her head with a basic knowledge of electricity.   
She bolts up in bed, a bed not her own, a bed with silken sheets so soft and fine as to be criminal. She rubs the thin material between two fingers, slowly allowing the situation to process. She had done it, she had finally won. Now the only thing to do seems to be to sit back and relish everyone else’s misery. The notion seems too good to be true and she tears the drapes aside to drink in the sight below her. A town lays sprawled out before her; not just any old town, her town.  
The sheer excitement is almost enough to have her parading down the street in her nightie yelling “Halleluiah!” as loud as her lungs would allow. She feels like a kid on Christmas because she had done it; victory is hers at long last. She scans the room, her room, a childish glee spreading throughout her entire being, blocking whatever negative emotions seek to rise to the surface.   
She becomes aware of weightless to her, and reaches up to stroke her hair, or rather what remains of the gorgeous raven locks. She gasps audibly before she is assaulted with visions of women, young and pretty women, who style their hair short. Cutting one’s hair in the Enchanted Forest was an absurdity, but here, it appears a quite natural thing to do. Her gaze falls upon a mirror; and she finds that she rather likes what she sees. It occurs to her that she is just one of those people that can pull off long hair or short and still be absolutely stunning.   
She is, however, quite alarmed at the way she is dressed and moves to rectify the situation. She enters her walk-in closet, pulling out the first hangar she sees. She is startled to find that the selected garment is, in fact, a dress. The thing hardly reaches past her mid-thigh and she can’t help but think how indecent that is. But, it would seem, that in this world it is quite normal. Still, she is not ready to make such a dramatic fashion statement and so opts for a much simpler, much more modest outfit composed of a cream-colored button-up blouse, black slacks, black stilettos, and a black trench coat. Black, black, black, black, black… Of course, it had always been her color, but as she surveys her new apparel, she can’t help but think it rather bland. Oh well, it seems to fit the people and the atmosphere: Grey, dull, and dismal.   
She makes her way down the stairs, humming happily to herself, that is, until she is greeted with a most unwelcome sight in the kitchen. Snow White, a very pissed off looking Snow White-no, not Snow White, Mary Margaret ; Snow White has long wavy tresses of wild hair, Snow White doesn’t wear cardigans and teach fourth graders, and Snow White definitely does not brew coffee for the Evil Queen-is bent over a steaming mug, presumably one filled with America’s favorite caffeinated beverage.   
She pushes a second cup toward Regina, her voice devoid of affection, “It’s strong, just how you like it.” And then she glares at Regina, a hard glint in her eye that would have been unsettling save for the fact that Regina is fucking baffled. Not knowing what else to do, she reaches out a hand, her left hand, to grab the coffee. And that is when she sees it-an elegant gold ring perched atop her third finger. The band is unmistakable in what it symbolizes and causes bile to rise in her throat- a wedding ring.


	2. Chapter 2

Regina doesn’t react, can’t find the words to describe her roiling emotions. Just stares down at the circular abomination that has coiled around her finger. She doesn’t know how long she has stood there, just staring in stunned silence, but apparently it isn’t long enough to be a cause for concern because Snow-Mary Margaret doesn’t comment. She is finally relieved at the sound of a diminutive chirping, at which point Mary Margaret knocks back the rest of her coffee, glances down at her watch, mutters a quick, “I have to get to work,” and scurries out the door in a manner that suggests a mouse scampering from a cat.   
Regina is quick to follow, but work is the last thing on her mind. Some grave mistake has been made and if someone-presumably the one responsible-doesn’t right this mess, there will be spilt blood. She seethes with a rage so intense that had she been capable of magic, she would have leveled the entire house. Instead she directs her fury at the man pulling the strings. Gold.   
She pays no mind to the crisp, chill air that kisses her skin as she strides down Mifflin Street-the idea of driving still not a comfortable one. There aren’t an excess of people who have ventured out of their houses at this early hour, but those who have, give the fuming mayor a wide berth.  
She hasn’t gone far when the curse has its way with her, taking longer with her because she isn’t exchanging one set of memories for another, but gaining an extra. The influx of visions causes a sharp pain to form behind her eyes and she doubles over from the exertion as scene after scene plays behind her eyes.  
…“I want a baby,” the statement is clear enough, but causes Regina to let out a resounding “What?”  
Tears are forming in Mary Margaret’s eyes and, God, she cries too often, “Regina, you’re not blind. I know you see that we are having issues.”  
There is nothing tender or even pitying in Regina’s harsh gaze as she laughs scornfully, “A baby isn’t going to fix that, dear.”  
Mary Margaret has so much hope shining in her eyes; hope will be the death of her, “You don’t know that. It might.”  
Regina, who seems to have grown bored of the conversation, just opens a book, rebuffing her wife’s plight with a dismissive, “I’ll think about it.”  
Mary Margaret’s tone suggests that this is an all too familiar phrase, “Yeah, sure you will.”…  
…And Regina does think on it, thinks long and hard, more than Mary Margaret would credit her for. Mary Margaret is always blaming her, saying it is by some fault of Regina’s that their marriage is deteriorating. She has changed; she used to be so thoughtful and affectionate. She spends too much time at work. She is probably having an affair. She never listens to anything Mary Margaret has to say, and so on.   
So Regina relents. If Mary Margaret thinks her such a terrible spouse then why shouldn’t she be able to make her own decisions?   
Mary Margaret goes to a clinic, one of those uptight, sterile, white-on-everything establishments and looks through the files of sperm donors like a child at a candy Shop. “Ooh, this one is a rocket scientist at the institute of blah, blah, blah. Surely we’ll have a smart baby.” “This guy competed in the Olympics. Our little one is going to be strong.” “Look, this one has the most gorgeous blue eyes. He doesn’t even have his GED and he is a drug addict, but ignore all this because he is fucking hot.” Of course, blue eyes wins. Her child is going to be a delinquent. The donor is some James something-or-another and Regina thinks that given the chance, Mary Margaret would rather just fuck him than have the procedure done artificially.  
A week later Mary Margaret is knocked up and a couple of weeks after that she is spending the majority of her mornings hunched over the toilet bowl, hurling out the contents of her stomach. And Regina rubs her back in soothing circles-more from obligation than any sense of loyalty and dedication-and remarks snidely, “Are you happy now? Did the baby fix everything?”…  
…The baby does not, in fact, fix all their problems, but drives a further wedge between them. Regina never really was the mothering type and the idea of a little runt coming into her household to wail throughout the night, demand food and coddling every hour, and make a mess of everything Regina had painstakingly put together isn’t an appealing one. Whereas before she had treated Mary Margaret with restrained tolerance, a task to be begrudgingly dealt with and an annoyance that was nothing more than bearable, she now views her with open disdain and even at times, revulsion. They barely speak, and no longer make love to one another. Regina even goes so far as to banish Mary Margaret to another room; her constant tossing and turning and nightly visits to the bathroom deprives Regina of her much needed sleep.   
She doesn’t attend check-ups, feel the baby kick, go to lamaz classes, buy baby clothes, or do any of the things one normally does when their spouse is expecting. When asked what names she likes, she simply states that she doesn’t have a preference. The only reason she decorates the nursery is because she won’t have Mary Margaret and her questionable fashion sense touching any of the rooms in her mansion.   
Her distance is apparent not only to Mary Margaret, but to the townsfolk as well because Archie knocks at her door one day asking if she wants to talk. She answers in no uncertain terms to buzz off…  
…She receives a call while she is at work, informing her that Mary Margaret has gone into labor. So she drives in her Benz to the hospital-because social norm dictates she be there-and watches in silent attention as Mary Margaret screams out vile obscenities Regina was unaware she even knew and sweat pours from her face, features contorted in agony. The entire ordeal is less a miracle and more a disgusting mess of tearing flesh, blood, and some bodily fluid Regina can’t even begin to try and identify.  
A couple more excruciating hours of this and Mary Margaret is rewarded for her strife- a sickly little bundle of nerves and organs all wrapped up in a thin layer of blue skin. And while Regina isn’t educated in the finer details of these affairs, she does recognize that babies aren’t supposed to be that color. She also knows-from TV and movies and such- that infants are meant to wail and kick and fuss upon entering the world, yet this one is entirely still…  
…The funeral is held a couple of days later. Regina doesn’t shed a solitary tear for little, baby Emma, but it isn’t too difficult to scrounge up her childhood sorrows, what with them being so numerous. And as she bends over the tiny casket, supposedly saying her final goodbyes to a person who hadn’t even drawn breath, she can’t help but feel a twinge of envy; Emma would never come to know the cruelties of the world, would never be subjected to the pain and anguish all mortals inevitably face.   
Mary Margaret is a wreck. Regina can’t comprehend how someone could grow so attached to something which had died before really ever existing…  
…Instead of getting over it and moving on with her life, Mary Margaret only grows more depressed, sinking into a profound state of despair. She wallows in her sorrow until Regina thinks she may just drown in it, and for the first time she feels they have made a real and deep connection, because Regina had been there before and understood the hurt her wife is experiencing, even if it is for such a petty reason.  
Regina spends her spare time spoon feeding the unresponsive woman, nurturing her back to health-because she has to, it’s what is expected of her. And after she coaxes some food into her system, she spews the half-digested sustenance all over herself and the furniture. And Regina spends the rest of the night bathing her zombie-like wife, and if she isn’t gentle, she is, at the least thorough.   
Eventually, after many, long weeks of this, Mary Margaret comes around, physically if not emotionally. Despite Regina’s steadfast care, she still finds a way to pin the incident on Regina. She wasn’t supportive enough. She wasn’t loving or affectionate. She wasn’t there. And maybe these accusations have some basis of truth, but it was hardly Regina who had stolen Emma’s life. But, nothing she said would convince Mary Margaret otherwise. In a last ditch effort, Regina invites Mary Margaret to come back to their bedroom. Mary Margaret is adamant in her refusal. Regina doesn’t take rejection well. She tells Mary Margaret she won’t ever be welcome ever again and whether that was an empty threat, she doesn’t know. Mary Margaret doesn’t test the hot-headed woman though. All in all, Emma had shattered their already strenuous relationship.  
They pass each other like silent ghosts in the night, never engaging in conversation, not really. Mary Margaret still cooks the meals and brews Regina’s coffee and Regina in turn buys whatever material thing Mary Margaret’s meager teacher salary won’t allow, but this is just out of habit, nothing more, nothing less. Routines prove to be a much harder thing to break than a marriage, and so they continue to live their life, day by day, without actually living…  
And so, Regina is brought back to the present. She moves from the uncompromising position, glancing around to see if anyone has noticed her distress; no one looks her way, too absorbed in their own insignificant lives.   
Regina laughs a maniacal laugh, can’t help but appreciate the irony. Snow’s misery in exchange for her own. When had that ever not been the case? Straitening, she continues on her way, paying no mind to the symbolic white flakes beginning to drift lazily down upon her, accumulating on her long, thick lashes; they would suffocate her if they could.  
“I want a divorce,” the declaration draws the shopkeeper from his work and he regards her as if he has just now noticed her presence, in spite of the fact that the bell had announced her coming.   
“Mayor Mills,” he gives a curt nod, “A pleasure to see you.” Regina surveys the dust riddled shop, her eyes scanning for anything out of the ordinary, anything potentially dangerous. All she finds are a collection of weathered trinkets and useless baubles. The entire place smells of books-aged leather bindings and yellowed pages-smells old. There is nothing of interest and she turns her attention back to the crippled imp-turned-human.   
“Did you not hear me?” she demands, already becoming impatient.  
“I’d have to be deaf not to,” The snarky comment doesn’t go unbeknownst to the mayor; she doesn’t think it is meant to.  
“Excuse me?” she searches for any sign of the Dark One, and when none is forthcoming, relaxes a little-but only slightly. She just sees a cowardly old shop keeper, a perfect target for her rage.  
“Did you bring the paperwork?” there is a feistiness to the way he says this, a glint in his eye that prompts her to back off. He may not have retained his memories, but he is still, at heart, Rumpelstiltskin and that in itself is reason enough to tread with caution.   
“Paperwork?” maybe she had been too hasty in her assessment. Is that a smile she sees playing about his lips?  
“Yes, paperwork. You don’t think it’s so easy as handing over some cash, signing your name, and wiping your hands of it, do you? It is a long, drawn out process,” she half expects a giggle to work its way from his throat. Instead he just arches an eyebrow.   
“Well isn’t that why I came to you, of all people?” She decides not to concern herself with whether this man in front of her is or isn’t the ever shifty Dark One-at least for the moment. She has bigger problems with which to deal.  
“You mean illegally?” he inquires, but doesn’t sound at all shocked by the notion. Either he deals with a lot of cases such as this, or Regina is just easy to read. She hopes it isn’t the latter.  
“Yes,” she affirms, not caring for the way he seems to be toying around with her. In the game of cat and mouse, she always despises playing the part of the rodent.   
He chuckles darkly, suggesting that he already knows the answer to his next question, “And Mary Margaret? Where is she?”  
“It doesn’t matter,” Regina bites out, tiring of his indirect manner. He likes watching her writhe.  
“Well, if you’re getting divorced, I’d say it matters.” He points out the obvious fact that such a decision must be consensual and she feels and idiot for acting so impulsively.  
“I know it’s not my business, but if I may-” he starts.  
“No, you may not,” Regina cuts him off, not caring for what he has to say.  
Not that her input matters. He forges on anyway, “It would seem recent events have put a strain on your relationship. You shouldn’t give up so readily. I’ve heard tell of marriages that have made it through seemingly unsalvageable situations and come out stronger for it.” This last is added as an afterthought, “Miracles really.”  
“Are you going to help me or not?” Regina isn’t comfortable with the direction of the conversation.  
“I will help you. For a price, of course. I just wanted you to be aware of the opportunity being offered you.” The grin he shoots her is almost sinful. But, she is too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice.  
“Opportunity,” she repeats, an idea forming. Everything seems so abundantly clear, she doesn’t know why she hadn’t come to this conclusion sooner, “Yes, I must be leaving.”  
“Oh, Miss Mills, I never had the chance to express my condolences. My sincerest apologies on what occurred to you and Miss Blanchard. A tragedy really,” She doesn’t turn, doesn’t even acknowledge this last sentiment.   
The children are out at lunch when she arrives at the school. Perfect, she thinks as she makes her way to Mary Margaret’s vacant classroom. She enters without knocking. “Hello, how can I-”Mary Margaret glances up from the papers she is grading and her face drops upon seeing who has come to call, “Regina.”  
“Hello dear,” Regina hadn’t realized she could make just two words sound so menacing.  
Mary Margaret adorns her angry face and the display is quite pathetic really, “I don’t feel like talking with you.”  
Regina shrugs, bearing her teeth in a venomous grin, “Then don’t.” Without warning or preamble, Regina crushes her lips to Mary Margaret’s in a bruising kiss, eliciting a small yelp from the younger woman. Mary Margaret pushes at her and Regina reluctantly lets go.  
Mary Margaret wipes at her mouth, looking somehow violated. Her voice sounds panicky as she whispers, “What the Hell, Regina!”  
Regina pretends offense, “Forgive me for wanting to kiss my wife. You tell me I don’t give you the time of day and then protest when I just want to be close to you.”  
Mary Margaret stiffens, staring at Regina with wide, innocent, hazel eyes. Regina has a point, a valid one. It takes all of Regina’s considerable amount of self-control not to holler in triumph right then and there. Mary Margaret has only ever lain with David-a man, her precious Prince Charming. In the Enchanted Forest, the idea of a woman bedding another woman was preposterous, a sin even-not that that had deterred Regina; when your entire life is just a litany of sins, what does such trifle mean? But, Miss Goody Two Shoes had probably never even considered it a possibility. A princess would NEVER engage in such a practice. And that is why Regina takes so much joy from this.  
She pulls Mary Margaret to her once again and this time the teacher doesn’t resist the passionate display of affection. She doesn’t reciprocate either, her old self battling to reach the surface and tell her that this is wrong, that Regina is her step-mother and sworn enemy for Heaven’s sake! But the curse overpowers her and Regina deepens the kiss, digging her fingers into Mary Margaret’s hips as her tongue slides into the other woman’s mouth. She tastes of the sweetest dessert, rich and forbidden and cloying-the rot your teeth out kind of sweet that leaves you curled in the fetal position on the couch due to a stomachache.   
Regina pushes Mary Margaret-none too gently-down onto her desk, papers going askew, fingers working at the buttons on her shirt as her mouth works its way down to her pulse point, where it sucks mercilessly at the tender flesh; it’s going to leave a mark. Good, Regina thinks, then everyone can see who she belongs to. Mary Margaret pushes at the hands loosening her shirt and begs, “Please, Regina, not here. The children-” Regina has now opened the shirt and unclasped her bra with a dexterity to be admired and pinches one of Mary Margaret’s hardening nipples. She arches into the touch crying out-whether from pain or pleasure Regina doesn’t know. She palms the ample breasts before bruising fingers make their way down over a smooth, flat stomach to hook on an ugly, floral skirt.   
Mary Margaret whimpers as Regina slides the fabric down over her legs and suddenly she is bared before the queen’s ravenous eyes. She makes a feeble attempt at covering herself, but Regina smacks her hands away, drinking in the glorious sight before her. She had wasted so much time looking to destroy Snow’s soul, when really all she needed was her body. She wonders idly why she hadn’t thought of it before; it seems so plainly obvious now, and so… fitting.   
She slides two fingers into Mary Margaret to find that she is scandalously wet. Oh, Snow, you bad girl, Regina smiles to herself. She thrusts into her roughly, her experienced fingers provoking slight moans from the woman sprawled across her desk. She thinks Charming had been rather inattentive because it isn’t much longer before Regina has Mary Margaret close to the edge.  
Her climax hits, rocking her entire body and Regina is aware of a growing wetness between her own thighs. It is a beautiful sight, watching Mary Margaret’s sweat slicked body shudder in ecstasy. She extracts her fingers, licking the digits clean of their juices. She spares a last glance down at Mary Margaret, her make-up dashed, her clothes crumpled on the ground, papers lying in jumbled heaps. The room absolutely reeks of sex. She looks at her watch, like she has somewhere better to be, and comments dryly, “You’ve about two minutes before lunch is over and your fourth graders are back,” before taking her leave.

**Author's Note:**

> TBC  
> I'd love feedback :) Sorry it's so short. Consider this the prologue.


End file.
